The Best Kept Secret of MI6
by themuller
Summary: Continuation of 'In Heat'. Alpha!Mallory thinks about the past. Omegaverse.
1. Chapter 1

Mallory had made his way down into the vaults of Q-branch. Ever since he had become 'M' he had made it his daily ritual to stand in the shadows of one of the columns, watching Q command his minions. Q knew, but pretended not to notice. When he first had found out, he had been furious, demanding Mallory stopped stalking him. Just because he was omega didn't mean his bloody alpha should come nosing, supervising his work!

Of course Q had a point, and Mallory made sure he was hidden from view, not wanting to undermine Q's authority. Yet, he couldn't resist watching Q in his element. Calm, disciplined, attentive–Q was a conductor, guiding his staff with quiet orders. He was friendly, but demanding, leading by example.

Returning back to his office, Mallory opened the drawer and poured himself a glass of whisky. For once, everything was running smoothly at Six and he went to the window overlooking the Thames. As he stood and watched the water flow by, his mind went back, back to when he had first met Q.

 _"DON'T TOUCH ME!" The young omega yelled at him, spitting blood on the roadside._

 _The bomb had exploded just as the funeral convoy had passed the junction. It had been a remote controlled detonation, targeting one specific vehicle. The young omega was the only survivor, badly wounded, bleeding profusely, but still fighting off the alpha medics. Mallory wondered if the omega even were aware of being in mortal danger._

 _"Easy now, we're here to help you. We need to stop the bleeding," Mallory kneeled beside him, not touching or leaning close._

 _His breathing had become laboured. His eyes were wide, trying to take in his surroundings, but unable to focus._

 _"Where is my mother?" he asked "Is she, she is dead, isn't she?"_

 _His voice broke, as he was heaving for air, stifling a sob. The look he sent Mallory was a plea for help, for reassurance. But Mallory just shook his head._

 _"I'm sorry," he said quietly._

 _"The hell you are. You lot are fucking responsible for this mess," the omega screamed at him, tears wetting his face._

 _He was gasping for breath, trying to hold onto life, to keep off the Lieutenant Colonel kneeling by his side. But he was losing the fight and as the pool of blood under him grew larger, he lost consciousness, finally allowing Mallory and one of the medics to take care of his wounds._

It had been touch and go for Q. Mallory had reported back to duty, but every free minute he would spent sitting by the too large bed in the hospital, watching over Q. An omega from a Catholic family, a family who had been wiped out by the bomb that injured Q. He was the sole survivor, clinging to life with a stubbornness Mallory would come to recognise as one of Q's characteristic traits. Many years later, whenever Q's persistence would be driving him mad, Mallory would think back to these days, spent holding a lifeless hand, reading out loud, hoping against hope.

The doctors had given up on him. A Catholic omega without family and unbonded? He was regarded as less than a stray dog. It was Mallory's repeated insistence, pulling rank unashamedly, which brought the doctors back to Q's bed. When he at long last opened his eyes, blinking and frowning, Mallory felt a deep emotional relief as if something clicked into place inside of him.

 _Unaware of Mallory's fight for getting Q the best care possible, Q was continuing his rant almost exactly where he had left off._

 _"Don't touch me!" he muttered, too weak to shout, pulling his hand away from Mallory's hold._

 _He looked around the room, obviously confused._

 _"Where am I? This doesn't look like a prison."_

 _"You're not a prisoner," Mallory answered surprised._

 _"Then why are you here? If not to keep me from escaping!"_

 _Mallory looked exasperated at Q._

 _"Escape? Really?"_

 _Q muttered something unintelligible, turning his head away. He lied still for a moment, Mallory contemplating if he should call the reluctant doctors, when Q again spoke._

 _"They are all dead, aren't they?"_

 _Mallory swallowed before answering affirmatively. They were both silent, then. Only the muffled sounds from outside the room were heard. The silence between them stretched out, became comfortable, a shroud, keeping them save from the threats of the world. A quiet rustle betrayed Q's hand scouring over the sheet, searching for Mallory's hand and finding it. Grounding both of them in this moment, both knowing this was the inception of their bond._

Mallory smiled, drinking. They had fought. Each other, society's expectations, Mallory's family. In the end, it had been Q's stubbornness which had kept them together. As much as he had resented Mallory, once Q had decided to take his hand, to hold on to him, he defended their bond against any obstacles. Including Mallory's overly protectiveness and his often appalling cluelessness when it came to omega sexuality. God, some of the late night discussions they would have, both naked, aroused, and Q refusing to let Mallory touch him, instead giving him a lengthy lecture on omega heats and the stupidity of alphas. Sometimes, he would even go and fetch his laptop, ordering him to watch instruction videos or read up on emotional bonding.

Most of this, though, first came to be long after Q had been released from the hospital. Mallory found a small room for Q to stay, close to the military base. Their tenuous relationship had to be kept a secret. Both sides of the conflict would see it as fraternisation with the sworn enemy. That was right until the day, Mallory was abducted and Q put aside all concerns for safety and propriety and began his fight for bringing Mallory back.


	2. Chapter 2

Gulping down the rest of his drink, Mallory tried to focus on the smoky taste, the pleasant burn of the alcohol. Instead, his mind wandered back to the days–and nights–during his imprisonment. The dark, dank room, that was his cell. No windows, a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. A bunch of dirty blankets to lie on. He would be left alone for an indeterminable amount of time in total darkness, then dragged out into a pristine, clean room with blazing lights. The torture was drawn-out. The shouts, the hurt, the increasing smell of blood, sweat, urine.

Mallory drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. The pain had been unimaginable. The humiliation only mattered in the beginning. Yes, he had been frightened, terrified of what were to come, whether he would make it out of there alive. But the dark hours, days, months in his cell–he had feared those the most. When he would be alone with his thoughts, with his panic the next time the door would open and he would be dragged out again.

 _He was barely conscious, lying on the cold concrete floor, unable to move the few inches unto the blankets. He tried to breathe through the pain, to just let go, pass out, sleep. Then it happened. He felt a touch to his face, light as a feather. The warmth of a hand, unreal, yet tangible, engulfing his face, coaxing him to crawl onto the blankets. The pain became a dull presence in the back of his mind; he felt as if large, soft wings were draped around him, keeping him sheltered from the horrors of this world. A melodious cooing, like the throaty call of a dove, replaced the racing thoughts of his mind. He slept._

Mallory shuddered. They found him, eventually. Because of Q. Q, who had used their fragile, new bond, not yet fully established, to form a connection. A connection to help Mallory persevere through the months of torture and interrogations. Surviving without giving any useful information, keeping his resolve, one day at a time. Longing for the moment he was thrown back into his cell. Because Q would be there. A soothing presence in his mind, helping him through the pain and fear. Back then, Q was still learning how to use their bond, discovering new ways of communicating with each other. Nowadays, Q was able to almost talk to him through it. Still, he would have to concentrate, and he would be drained for energy a long time after. Through the years since, Mallory had often wondered how Q had been able to keep the link between them during his incarceration. More so, because Q found him by using their connection, homing in on him by scouring the city, the boroughs beyond, reaching out and sensing the smallest shifts in their bond to close in on his actual location. Then, Q had to tell the military where Mallory was kept hostage, risking his own life–because he would be seen as a traitor by Mallory's captors. Also, Q had a hard time being listened to, the military believing him to have set a trap.

 _He had lost all sense of time, lying on the pile of filthy blankets. Only the quiet cooing in his mind, the sensation of security provided by Q reaching out for him, kept him from giving up. He barely registered the commotion outside his cell, and when the door was thrown open, he flinched, regretfully losing his connection with Q._

 _It would take several hours before Mallory had realised that he had been rescued. The sudden disconnection from Q had left him reeling, as if he had lost the most important part of his self. Q was prohibited from visiting him at the hospital, Mallory's superiors still distrustful of him. Mallory recovered from his most severe injuries, but was released before being able to return to duty. It had been weeks before he finally made his slow, laborious way up the stairs to Q's small flat._

 _It took all of his willpower to climb the stairs. Two, three steps, then pause. It felt like an eternity, and all the way up, he tried to make contact with Q, tried to reach out like Q must have done those past months. But he could only perceive the tiniest flicker of someone being there. Ultimately he knocked at the door, caught his breath, and waited with an increasing feeling of apprehension._

 _Q opened the door, cautiously. He wasn't surprised, seeing Mallory standing in front of him. But before opening up all the way, he looked around, as if making sure, Mallory wasn't followed by someone. When he was sure, he opened the door wide, a small, unsure smile spreading on his face. Mallory almost fell forward, into the flat, Q catching him and closing, locking the door behind him._

 _They held each other, scenting, kissing, and just holding on. Close, closer, as if they wanted to become one entity, never to be drawn apart ever again. Mallory didn't know for how long they stood like that, leaning on each other, tightening the embrace whenever it felt as if the other was loosening their grip. Entangled as they were, Q pulled them towards the old, worn-out sofa, letting both of them fall into it with a deep contented sigh._

Mallory could feel dampness on his cheek. Q had been skin and bone, exhausted to the point of collapse by the time Mallory had been reunited with him. The search for him, the many hours of creating and maintaining a connection, to find Mallory and support him, it had taken its toll on Q. It would take months, nursing him back to health. Months, in which Mallory laid the groundwork for a new life for both of them; eventually bringing them to London. Caring for Q proved to be the one thing that had been missing in Mallory's recovery.

There was a knock on his door. Mallory looked at his empty glass, then shook his head with a small smile.

"Come in."

Q entered, all business, barely looking up from his tablet. Mallory grinned and waited for him to close the door behind him, before any of them actually acknowledged the other.

"I told you to stop reminiscing, love!" Q scolded, his voice betraying his concern.

"I'm fine, pigeon," Mallory traversed the room and pulled Q into a kiss.

Q broke away a few minutes later, flustered.

"I didn't mean to reach out," Mallory tried to explain. "Sometimes, I'm just. I'm still trying to comprehend what happened. How lucky we've been."

"I know," Q smiled knowingly.

"Sometimes, I've to pinch myself too. But," Q looked a bit embarrassed. "But, whenever your minds drifts back to–you know, back. It. It kind of interferes with whatever I'm doing. Even if you don't reach out."

Q sighed. They had talked about this before. Many times in fact. Reaching out to the other was a conscious decision, except when it wasn't.

"Pigeon, I'll try to do better," Mallory pulled him back into his arms. "I'm sick and tired of keeping our bond a secret. Bloody bonding laws."

They looked at each other, letting their minds unite, their memories unfurl, their histories melt together into one.

"One day, pigeon, one day, we'll be able to come out of hiding," Mallory murmured, pulling Q close, closer, wanting to become the one entity no book of laws could break apart.


End file.
